October 25, 2011

Constant Contrast

Someone moves in and, somewhere in the city, another moves out.

One is taking a chance on a dream while another realizes their dream is now leading them elsewhere.

A commonplace mix of introductions and going away parties.

You can't ever get too comfortable in the city as life is never the same from one year to another.

And it's not that you don't know that when you choose to live in a city, but it's that you choose to ignore it until the day comes to say goodbye to yet another friend.

October 12, 2011

City Full of Stories

As the bus passed the corner of 38th and 3rd she saw him sitting on "his" ledge. Although the morning wasn't as cold as the preceding ones, he was bundled up in a winter coat. A passing woman dropped a few coins into his plain paper cup that he probably got from one of the corner coffee cart vendors. They exchanged a few words before the woman went on her way.

Someone rang the bell for the stop and, as the bus pulled over, she felt an urge to hop off herself and talk to this man.

She's seen him sitting on this corner every morning for the past three years and some mornings he appears happier than she does - greeting everyone with a smile even if they don't offer him any spare change.

She can't help but wonder about his story and how his life led him to that corner.

The bus pulled away and she continued on her way to work knowing she would once again wonder the same thing the next morning.

October 5, 2011


Tonight this city exists only for her. Darkness has begun to wrap its arms around the night and as she walks the few blocks from the train each passing face is one from the past.

Faces from home, from high school, undergrad and grad school. She feels as if she is sleepwalking.

Why these faces and why this particular evening?

It's like she's in the middle of a dream, but she feels more awake than she has all day. It's an odd feeling and she decides she may need to cut back on the afternoon coffee.

October 4, 2011

Storytime is About to Begin

She can’t say when it began this love affair with words. It just always was. Wherever there was paper, words followed. Sometimes stories that lived in her head and others stories that lived in her heart. Sometimes expressing things on paper was the only way she could make sense of herself.

As the creative writing slowly took a back seat to journalistic writing, she realized the stories in her head and heart feel more important than the stories she gets paid to tell.

Visible Ink

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov